Standstill
by unholytrifecta
Summary: "One anguish-filled voice pierces the silence, resonating in the ears as well as the hearts of the crowd of onlookers." A look into the past of one of my original characters, Salina Natori. Now a compilation, but all chapters can stand alone.
1. Standstill

**Author**: EtherealPhoenix  
><strong>Title<strong>: Standstill  
><strong>Rating<strong>: T  
><strong>Summary<strong>: "One anguish-filled voice pierces the silence, resonating in the ears as well as the hearts of the crowd of onlookers. A girl so small should not be able to sound that tragic." A look into the past of one of my original characters, Salina Natori.  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: Suzanne Collins owns _The Hunger Games_, not me. But I do own my characters.

One of my first times writing in present tense, and my first fanfic! [After two years. Haha.]

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><p><strong>Standstill<strong>

It is **6:30 **in the evening. The work day in District 11 has long since ended; an orange-red glow lights the horizon as the late autumn sun begins to set. A mother and her two children sit in their customary places at the dinner table - a roughly carved, well-worn thing. Despite the years of use, and one particularly memorable instance in which a five year-old Cordel scrambled on top of it to prove he could touch the ceiling (he couldn't, of course), it remains as sturdy as the day it was built. And it happened to be built by the one person who was absent from the house.

The mother, Katia, runs her fingers along the edge of the table, taking pride in her husband's handiwork, though it is far from professional. Light brown eyes flicker to the doorway occasionally, fingers comb through lengthy dark brown tresses in concern.

"Mom, I'm _hungry_," Cordel complains, now twelve, and just as impulsive as in his youth. The Games were two months ago and he was not reaped. His parents held a feast (by his standards) that night. "Can we eat now? Please?" The boy is pleading now, his stomach growls audibly to further prove the point. His sister, two years younger, rolls her eyes.

Katia offers a tender smile to her eldest child and shakes her head, solemnly firm. _I know you're hungry. We all are. These Peacekeepers give us rations barely fit for one child, much less our entire family._ Aloud, she says, "We always wait for your father, you know that. We always eat together." Her gaze rests on the plate in the center of the table. It contains nothing more than two rolls of bread and pieces of dried pear. The bread is the usual - dark, crescent moon shaped loaves made from ration grain, with larger seeds spread throughout. The faintest hint of honey is present for added sweetness. The meal will be appetizing, but gone all too soon. A family of four will be underfed for yet another night.

Her attention snaps to the door as the knob twists, the wood creaking as it gives way to the force directing it.

A well-known man stands in the doorway, stepping inside as sunlight creeps in behind him. He is tall and muscular, unkempt brown hair nearly reaching his eyes. Cordel and Katia smile.

The little girl brightens immediately, her silence broken. She hops out of her chair, and runs to her father. "Dad!" she shouts, but stops short. There is something different about him. The fabric of his shirt is stretched, and the bottom is folded into itself. One arm is cradled underneath of the bulge, clearly securing something. The man's green eyes sparkle with amusement.

He closes the door carefully, then walks over to his family, smiling. "I have a surprise for you," he murmurs. He leans over the table, and untucks his shirt. Out falls one ripe, golden-yellow pear. Two apples follow soon after. The children's gazes fixate on the fruit, restraining themselves from lunging at it like savages.

A pair of thin arms wrap themselves around a strong waist, hazel eyes peeking out from a curtain of dark brown hair. "Thank you, Dad," is all she says, but her expression is filled with unspoken joy.

"You deserve it, Salina. My girl."

Cordel interrupts quickly. "So can we _eat_ now?"

The childish innocence of his question causes the entire family to laugh, but the adults share a look, the humor fading from their features for that short-lived moment.

Salina returns to her seat, and her father gives his wife a brief kiss.

"You're late, Logan," Katia responds, concerned. But she knows why. She had known the moment he'd stepped into the house. But she says no more. The rolls are no longer warm. Her children are hungry. This is no time or place for such a conversation. She grabs a knife from the nearby rack and leans over the table, slicing the bread and fruit into pieces.

It is **6:45**. The family finally eats. Logan and Katia pretend to be selective of their food, allowing their children's small hands more time to dart around, grabbing what they can and eagerly filling their stomachs. Only after Salina and Cordel claim a considerable part of the small meal do their parents begin eating.

Always after.

To them, the delight on the two young faces can keep them alive just as well as the bread ever could. They are at peace, for this one moment.

It is **7:10**. A harsh knock sounds at the door. Logan gets up to answer. As his hand reaches for the doorknob, the door flies open, splintering at the hinges. The impact with his forehead has broken the skin, and a thin line of blood travels between his eyes, down his nose.

"Logan!" Katia shouts, standing up. Salina and Cordel rush from their seats to stand near their mother.

Two stern-looking men dressed in white stand in the doorway. Peacekeepers. Their gazes sweep over the household, locking onto the cherished table. The bread is completely gone, but fruit cores litter the serving platter.

One of the Peacekeepers smirks, as if he has found the long-awaited answer to a pressing question. He grips Logan's arm tightly. "You're coming with us," he sneers.

Katia steps forward, contempt and panic lacing her words. "Where are you taking my husband?" she asks the other man through gritted teeth. She knows of these men. Brothers from District 2 who joined the same line of work, and were both assigned to District 11. The man she spoke to was named Travis. The other, she wasn't sure of.

Travis looks at Katia with indifference. "Logan Natori is charged with theft and destruction of District 11 property. He is sentenced to execution. Immediately."

Katia covers her mouth in horror and releases a shaking gasp.

Logan resists. The brother of Travis punches him, breaking his nose. Children's whimpers are heard.

"What's execu-?" Salina begins to ask, but is quickly silenced by her brother. Cordel inhales deeply, eyes watering, staring at his battered father.

Logan is pulled to his feet, and forcibly dragged outside. The roads are mostly empty, as the citizens of District 11 sit in their houses, savoring the limited amount of food they were allotted. Anyone who dared to steal from the day's harvest was lucky. They were not caught.

Logan Natori - a diligent worker, a loving father, an extraordinarily kind man - was.

He is forced through the streets. Faces watch from windows. Those who are more daring exit their homes and follow, confused. Soon, a crowd forms.

Katia watches from the doorway, suddenly turning to her children. "Stay here. Cordel, watch your sister. I love you." With those words, she runs out into the street, chasing after her captured husband. She pushes relentlessly through the crowd. People make a path for her. They know who she is.

Salina runs to join her mother, frantic. "Mom! What's happening?" she cries, her bare feet tapping along the street in earnest. Cordel follows. They make their way to the front of the crowd, hand in hand.

Katia hugs them desperately, knowing it is too late to send them home. Tears fall from her eyes. She blocks out the murmuring crowd. There is nothing but her, her children, and the scene in front of her eyes.

The Peacekeepers shove Logan onto a raised platform. Travis binds the older man's hands behind his back, pale skin contrasting with tan as the rope is knotted. Travis walks over to his brother silently. The other man speaks.

"Logan Natori, we have found evidence of stolen produce in your home. We have reason to believe that this has been going on for quite some time. As you well know, theft of District 11 property is punishable by death."

This is all a formality. The Peacekeepers want to make an example of him. They have done so before, and they will do so again. Why else commit murder over stolen fruit?

The unnamed Peacekeeper places a gun to Logan's right temple. The cold metal on his skin is foreboding. It is mocking him, counting down the seconds.

Logan looks up, broken and smeared with blood. He seeks out his family, dark green eyes staring directly at his wife. He silently prays that they will survive without him. So does she. A ghost of a smile emerges on his face as he shares one final moment with his children. He mouths the words, "I love you."

The crowd gradually grows still. The Peacekeeper tightens his grip on the gun, wrapping his finger around the piece of metal that will end one man's life today. One anguish-filled voice pierces the silence, resonating in the ears as well as the hearts of the crowd of onlookers. A girl so small should not be able to sound that tragic.

"_DADDY!_"

That single word lingers in the air.

It is **7:30**. He pulls the trigger.

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><p><strong>Author's Note<strong>: I hope you enjoyed! I would love reviews, constructive criticism, etc. Please? :D And Salina will be featured in a major Hunger Games fanfic. I just like giving you insight on her backstory. Haha.

And I do realize that the majority of the story didn't focus on her, but that's how I meant it to be. -compels you to click the 'review' button-

**Edit**: This will be turning into a multichapter fic. And I made an edit - I accidentally switched the names of her mother and best friend. You'll see later. Haha, sorry for any confusion.

-EtherealPhoenix. ^-^


	2. Rivalry

**Author's Note**: The second [standalone] chapter of 'Standstill'. This shows no particularly significant event; it's mainly to show her relationships with the other people in her life. I'm still thinking of an alternate main title for this fanfic, so as of now it will remain unchanged. I hope you enjoy! This chapter is in Salina's point of view, and rather lighthearted in comparison to the last, so I'm sorry in advance for the mood whiplash. Haha.

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><p><strong>Rivalry<strong>

District 11 looks beautiful from the air. That's what I always think when I'm up here. 'Here' being the joint between the trunk of a tree and a thick branch. It makes a decent seat, if you know how to position yourself. Trust me, I know. I lost my footing once - ended up dangling upside-down by one leg from fifteen feet in the air. I fell and broke my leg, but that's another story.

Anyway, what was I saying?

Oh, that's right. District 11. It's stunning from this height, and especially this season. It's summer right now, and the different trees (the fruit-bearing ones, at least) are dotted with splashes of color. Even the plain trees have striking green leaves that seem polished in the sunlight. There are watermelons growing in the gardens, too. Not that we get to eat them.

Not that we get to eat _anything_ around here.

As I look down at my neighbors, I smile a bit. It's some kind of holiday today; no one has to work, and we all get a much needed break. Who knows why. No one questions the Capitol.

Ha. I say that with extreme sarcasm, by the way.

Of course, mixed in with my neighbors are Peacekeepers, who I lovingly refer to as 'white-robed idiots'. Seriously, they're walking around - on a _holiday_ - ready to assault anyone who so much as bumps into them on the street.

Bastards. I want to slap that self-important look right off of their faces. Two in particular.

The two who killed my father.

"Sali_na_!" I hear, and shake myself out of my thoughts. Raisa's calling me, stressing the last syllable of my name. I swear, if it was anyone other than her doing that, I'd give them a look that would have them heading for the hills. I look around, spotting her in another tree nearby.

"_What_?"

"I've been calling you for a full two minutes. I said we should go back to your house - it looks like it's going to rain. What were you doing over there?"

Oops. I must have zoned out. I quickly climb downwards. How long have I even been up here? The sky's dimming a bit. Carana's waiting on the ground - she doesn't like climbing trees. I laugh at her every time. That's like living in District 4 and being afraid of swimming. She glares, and I laugh more. Cari knows I mean no harm. I love her like a sister. We're practically family, anyway. Raisa's my best friend, and Cari's her younger cousin.

I hop down and join her side, smirking and tugging playfully at one light brown ringlet. She swats my hand away. Her hair's soft, and the same color as her cousin's. My hair is a lot darker, though I'm getting streaks of lighter brown and blonde from constantly working outside. Cordel never hesitates to point it out.

Raisa's already walking up to us. What's going on with me today? I'm losing track of time.

"You know, if I wasn't used to your little 'treetop thinking sessions', I'd think something was wrong with you," Raisa murmurs, chuckling as we head off to my house, which isn't far away at all.

"I bet I know what you were thinking about," Cari teases.

"Better yet, _who_," Raisa adds, nudging me in the side with her elbow.

I sigh, like I usually do when they bring _him_ up. Zaren. Yeah, I know. Weird name. I guess his parents decided to abandon tradition. Anyway, he's my brother's best friend. They're both sixteen, two years older than me. Is it my fault that he ends up everywhere I go?

…And apparently today is no exception, because he's currently sitting on my porch.

He walks over, an arrogant grin plastered on his face as always.

"Salina! Have you gotten even _shorter_ since yesterday? I didn't even think that was possible."

"Hm, I don't know, Zaren. Considering my height seems to reflect your current intelligence level, you tell me." I flash him my most innocent smile as I walk around to the back of the house. He follows, as I expected. That's how things work with us. We trade insults until he feels like going home.

I can practically feel his eyes burning into the back of my head. They're a warm, honey-brown. I know them as well as I know my own.

But don't start siding with Rai and Cari. Anyone would, if the owner of those eyes had been harassing them for years.

It's raining now. We never planned on going inside; it's just nice to know we have a roof to stay under if the weather gets too bad. You're not District 11 if you can't handle a little dirt. Or mud, in this case.

"Who invited you, anyway?"

"Everyone else in your family _does_ like me, you know. It's in your genes."

I scoff. "That gene must have skipped over me. And I've never been happier."

Suddenly and unexpectedly, I'm hit in the back with something. It's cold, wet, and seeping down the back of my shirt. I cringe at the discomfort and spin around, seeing Zaren a few feet away. He whistles casually, then smirks. "Something wrong?" he asks.

His right hand is coated in mud. As if I needed that clue.

I attack him.

Mud flies everywhere. Even Raisa and Cari get into it. Our clothes are drenched and dirty, but a good scrub would leave them as good as new. Our laughter rings out as we run around, tossing mud at each other. Someone tackles me from the side, and I'm thrown into the swampy ground.

It's Zaren. He has me pinned, and is staring at me from above. Water drips from his face to mine. His dark brown hair seems nearly black, soaked by rain. Strands are messily stuck to the sides of his face, and I feel like brushing them away with my fingers.

He releases my wrists, never having a tight hold to begin with. I can hear the sound of his breathing. My fingers twitch, and I do something I've always wanted to do.

I scoop some mud into my hand and slap him across the face with it.

He looks stunned. I simply smirk. As he stands up, I get to my feet as well.

Mom calls from inside, looking out of one of the back windows. Raisa and Carana have already gone into the house. I start walking around to the front, and as always, Zaren follows.

I move my grimy hair to rest behind my shoulders. We walk silently. A silent moment between us is rare.

I look over for a moment. He's covered from head to toe in mud, and I imagine I'm the same. He laughs quietly, and offers me a grin. His teeth are faultless, his smile a white flash against otherwise soiled skin and clothes. It's just like him to be perfect when everything else is ruined.

…Did I just say _perfect_? I must have hit my head harder than I thought.

We reach the front of the house. I walk up to the porch and glance at him.

"Are you coming inside?" I ask.

He gives me a soft chuckle. "I probably shouldn't. It's getting late, and I need to get cleaned up."

I nod.

"Salina?" he catches my gaze, his own eyes covered by the occasional wisp of wet hair.

"Yeah?"

"_Nice_ hair," he responds, smirking.

Ah, there's the Zaren I know.

I roll my eyes, but as we look at each other again, our expressions soften. Our lips twitch upwards into the beginnings of a smile, but we're quickly interrupted by a light tapping on the windowpane. Cordel wants me to come inside.

Zaren waves at my brother, turns on his heel, and starts walking down the street.

I go inside, watching him from the window for a few seconds. I shake my head and start to get ready for dinner, mentally scolding myself for wishing that he had never left.

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><p><strong>Author's Note<strong>: Tada! Did you like it? Review, or I won't know. xD Open to edits in the future, because it's currently 2:40 AM and I'm not entirely pleased with how this flows.

-EtherealPhoenix.


	3. Desperation

**Author's Note**: Yay, third chapter. I'm sorry; you guys have to be victims of mood whiplash once again. xD Anyways, this is a major event that will affect Salina's performance in The Torture Games. Before I begin, I'd like to dedicate this entire story to _**VividlyVisceral**_. :D Without her, Salina would just be another unused concept in my mind. Thanks, Vivid!

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><p><strong>Desperation<strong>

Salina sneaks to the orchards in the evenings, much to the disapproval of her family.

Doing so is against District 11 rules - one of the several restrictions regarding food. All produce harvested must be presented to district officials. Stealing is forbidden. Hoarding is forbidden as well.

It seems as if no family is granted a ration more than the bare minimum needed to survive.

Most citizens of District 11 live off of berries they can forage from wild bushes. Not many have the skills or courage to venture into the woods and hunt. Salina's mother has told her stories about the histories and cultures of the other districts - more educational than anything she has learned in school. According to her, the District 12 Peacekeepers turn a blind eye to illegal hunting, as long as they get a share of the day's catch.

She wishes her District was so fortunate. Illegal actions in her home are punishable by death.

Salina knows this all too well; it has been five years.

But as the fifteen year-old plucks ripened apples from a tree, careful not to rustle the leaves too loudly, she has one thought present in her mind.

She will not let her family starve.

The autumn wind is biting, relentlessly stinging her skin. The youngest member of the family should not have the greatest responsibility, but Cordel insists on being an upstanding district citizen. Salina understands. Her older brother cannot take the risk; his tessarae is keeping them alive, and it is his duty to be the man of the house.

The young girl continues storing apples in the unevenly sewn fabric bag she reserves for occasions such as these. She has five now, a good score for such bad weather. She tugs the drawstring on the bag, and decides to make her way home, hoping the roads are abandoned.

She treks across the hills, careful of the vegetable gardens and patches of soil that likely took hours for her neighbors to till.

She is nearly out of the fields when she spots the familiar white outfit of a Peacekeeper. Her eyes take in his features, and she quickly realizes that this man is one she knows _too_ well. She curses quietly and ducks behind a tree trunk. The blonde Peacekeeper catches a glimpse of movement and steps off of the paved road, the soles of his white boots crunching the dry leaves.

"Who's there?" he demands.

Salina is silent. Her breathing all but ceases, and she clenches her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering. A badly timed gust of wind hits her from behind, sending her dark brown hair fluttering outwards, clearly visible from Travis's position.

"District 11 workers aren't allowed out in the fields this late. Work hours are over. Reveal yourself."

She sets the bag down, still hiding its presence and boldly steps aside, approaching the man.

"What is your name?" he asks. Salina refrains from scoffing. _Of course you wouldn't recognize the daughter of the man you helped kill. Why would you? It's probably a daily event for you, you heartless bastard. _She remains soundless.

"I asked you a question. _Speak_." His hand tenses. She still refuses to reply.

He presses on, as if she had answered. "What are you doing here?" he grunts. Seconds pass. A minute. Salina's expression is flat and unresponsive.

The next sound is that of the back of his hand cracking against her cheek.

Her head snaps to the side. She looks up with defiant hazel eyes.

The bag of apples makes a muted thump against the ground as it topples onto its side. Travis walks over to the tree, picking up the bag and flipping it upside down. Bright apples tumble across the dried, withering grass.

He gives a self-satisfied smile. He has just discovered a criminal.

Fear flashes across Salina's face. It takes her less than a second to decide her next action.

She runs.

The Peacekeeper pursues, easily capturing her lower arm and flinging her backwards, sending her skidding through the grass.

She scrambles to her feet, disoriented. Desperate, the girl attempts to flee again. He shoves her harshly, forcing her down once more. She rolls onto her back.

He pins her to the soil, with one hand pressed over her mouth. She kicks and thrashes.

The one thing she cannot do is scream.

Salina's left hand claws at his face. His stern expression never changes. He draws a dagger out from his belt as a warning.

She does it once more, succeeding at grazing the man's cheek. The scratches gradually darken in color as the blood pools.

He slams her hand into the dirt. The sharp metal slides across her wrist. Her pupils dilate. There is no excruciating agony. This is a slow, dull burn. She can do nothing but watch as scarlet ribbons dance their way down the sides of her arm.

A gunshot echoes in her mind. Her knee struggles out of its trapped position and slams into his abdomen with surprising force.

She will not die this way. Not by _him_.

Travis inhales sharply, and lessens his grip. He drops the dagger. Salina retrieves it and scrambles away. He lunges at her with an infuriated roar. She strikes out aimlessly with the dagger. The Peacekeeper clutches his chest. The once pristine white uniform has dirt and grass stains, as well as something much more prominent.

A streak of crimson on his chest is blooming outwards, growing larger by the moment.

He charges yet again, but she is prepared. Fiercely determined hazel eyes meet blue, and the silver blade makes a swift arc. It slices through part of his cheek and tongue, and he writhes in pain, spitting blood on the dirt. It keeps flowing. Both are bleeding heavily now, the clocks ticking down on their fate.

Three words repeat in Salina's mind - a mantra that she is tempted to follow.

_Let him die._

With strained effort, she tosses the weapon into a mass of bushes near the edge of the field.

She staggers back home as her vision blurs from the blood loss, the bag of apples forgotten.

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><p><em>[Two months later.]<em>

The sun shines and the air is still, rare for this winter day. Cordel tosses the last of the oranges down to Salina. She catches them with her right hand, missing the few she attempted to catch with her left. A gauze wrap is still applied to her wrist, though the worst of the damage is over. She places the fruit into the basket, just as the call is sounded for the end of work hours.

The siblings walk up the hills, heading for the main roads that travel through their district. They smile at their neighbors as they pass, trading jokes along the way. Salina almost collides with a Peacekeeper. Cordel tenses. She looks up. He has cropped blonde hair, blue eyes, and an uneven scar along his cheek that fades into his lip. She says nothing.

Neither does he.

The medics couldn't save his tongue (something for which Salina was grateful, unless she felt like being executed any time soon). He is one of the few to voluntarily become an Avox; as this particular case wasn't a punishment by the Capitol, Travis continued to stay in District 11 with his brother as a Peacekeeper.

He glares coldly at her - pure, undisguised hate in every part of his expression. The girl traces a finger across her gauze-wrapped wrist, rejoining her brother and continuing their walk home.

Murmurs have been heard in the streets of District 11; stories of a mutilated Peacekeeper and a mysteriously injured girl. Only two people in Panem will ever know the entire truth.

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><p><strong>Author's Note<strong>: I _always_ finish in the morning! 4 AM this time. xD Well, I hope you enjoyed. I believe this will be the final chapter, unless I can think of other events [or the readers suggest any I like]. I may start on the story for my second original tribute. Vivid, if you read this, I realize I changed this part from her original backstory, but I felt like Travis's injury was more realistic this way. Haha. Review, please! ^-^ [Open to edits; I'm never entirely pleased with the chapters I finish at these times of the day. xD]

-EtherealPhoenix.


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